Question and Answer
by Unique Sandwich
Summary: A (very late) S&S Christmas story.


**Question and Answer**   
by Kelsey   
  
Disclaimer: All S&S goodness belongs to CLAMP. Sigh.   
  
Notes: Originally written as a drabble request for the_groke. ^^ I kind of went over the 500-word limit by 140 words, but who cares? It's S&S and it's Christmas-y. My muses really, really don't seem to like their names being used in fic. My apologies for the inevitable pronoun confusion. *kicks them*   
  
--   
  
There are lots of things he wants to ask, but he says nothing.   
  
He wants to ask him why he's here, tonight of all nights, a small, foil-wrapped package in hand, but that would be impolite, so he simply invites him in. It's only polite, right? The correct thing to do, even if the man lives outside all bonds and boundaries of propriety. Quite a fascinating lifestyle.   
  
He doesn't ask himself why he's thinking of that old myth. Some sort of monster that can only come in unless invited. What kind? Oh, vampires. Beautiful, deadly creatures of blood and night.   
  
He knows the answer to that. The question isn't necessary.   
  
He wants to ask him why he bothered to buy him a book he's loved since he was fourteen but never remembered to buy when he was in a bookstore. He wants to ask him how he knew, but the first question is more important. Why, why, why? Is it some new form of cruelty? The air is painted with the tension between them and then, one by one, flakes chip away and fall as a hand lifts to stroke his cheek. He can smell the salt tang of blood (real or imagined or metaphorical?) on those fingers, but he closes his eyes and feels a measure of peace stealing over his bruised heart.   
  
He doesn't ask himself why he lets him kiss him, because he knows the answer to that, too. It's like having a New Years fireworks display explode inside, being touched by him. The question isn't necessary and he grabs a fistful of black coat, holding him close because he's afraid that this, too, will slip away and he will be left with nothing but cold air.   
  
He's almost tempted to ask why he hasn't been hurt yet, but kisses are difficult things to speak around and now there are hands touching his bare skin and the question falls back to dwell with the others.   
  
He doesn't ask why he's letting him do this. He's tired, deep-down and heartsick tired, of asking himself that a thousand times every night. One, two, three, endless cycle. Nine years of three words: lonely, cold, tired. A dismal little list and he's tired of it and the other man's touch is something hot and vital and tells him that he is alive.   
  
Then the warmth on his mouth is gone, pulling with it the rest of the heat in his body, and at last the question bubbles to his lips. "Why?"   
  
The smile makes the pit of his stomach ache and brings a dull tingle of lingering warmth to his cheeks. "I wondered how long it would take you to ask that, Subaru-kun. You've wanted to know why since the moment you answered the door."   
  
"It's not polite to turn people away. Or ask questions like that."   
  
"Ah, politeness." The remark is soft, almost silky. "Subaru-kun, has it occured to you? The flaw in the concept of 'politeness.' If you only spoke when you were spoken to, and the other person always waited for you to begin, you see nobody would ever say anything."   
  
They both sit on the couch, silent for the moment, and the air is humming again. A few stolen kisses aren't enough for either of them.   
  
The other man rises. "Merry Christmas, Subaru-kun."   
  
His hand reaches out almost of his own volition, once again snatching at fabric in order to prevent an almost-dream from disappearing. Isn't loving someone like dreaming?   
  
"Stay."   
  
Another pause.   
  
His voice is beginning to fray at the edges, just the barest tattering. "Not because it's the polite thing to say. Because I want you to."   
  
He's being pulled up off the couch and it's a confused tangle of arms and fingers and cloth as they, at last, find each other in an embrace.  
  



End file.
